


Linear Conversations

by ohmybgosh



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Asexual Billy Hargrove, Asexual Steve Harrington, Inspired by trobed! Or is it troybed?, dialogue!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmybgosh/pseuds/ohmybgosh
Summary: “If you were a bug, what kind would you be?”“Um..a bee, I guess.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61
Collections: harringrove for BLM





	Linear Conversations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thursdayknight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdayknight/gifts).



> For Gideon <33 thank you for the prompt, I had so much fun writing this and I hope it’s what you wanted! 
> 
> This was inspired by a scene in Community, between my other favorite boys Troy and Abed. It’s in season 2 I believe?

“If you were a bug, what kind would you be?” Steve tosses the basketball towards the ceiling. It spins, almost lazily even though that’s not how gravity works, but that’s how he feels - too hot and humid and sleepy, lying on his back on top of his comforter - and so the world seems to slow, loose and languid, forgiving in its rules if just for one summer afternoon. 

He’s lying on the wrong side of the bed, bare feet propped up on his pillow with his toes brushing the headboard. 

The ball comes back and he catches it; it feels sticky against his palms that are far too sweaty. His bedroom window is open but the breeze doesn’t cool the air down so much as stir it around, delivering warm wafts of June wind that smell like seasonal allergies and the freshly treated pool water below his bedroom. 

“Um,” Billy scratches his nose.  _ If you were a…  _ is a game they probably didn’t invent but like to pretend they did. It’s a good game, and it’s helped them get to know each other since neither of them are terribly good at communicating. They’ve had excellent questions, which led to confessions neither could’ve said under the pressure of a non-linear conversation. 

Sometimes following a conversation is hard for Steve, and Billy doesn’t like to talk about feelings unless it’s under the guise of a competition, so the question and answer format suits them well. The best questions so far, in Steve’s opinion, and he prides himself on asking both of them, if this were a competition he’d say he’s winning, are the following:

Driving down the highway, in Steve’s car - _“If you were a time traveler, what time would you go back to?”_ _“Before my mom left. But I don’t want to time travel.” “How come?” “I don’t know. Here is good.”_

And, snuggled under the covers, with Billy curled around him, one arm draped over Steve’s hip, his chin resting on Steve’s shoulder -  _ “If you were a celebrity, who would you sleep with first?” “Um, well, no one. I’m asexual.” “Oh. Me too.”  _

Currently, Billy’s lying beside Steve, knees bent towards the ceiling like two tan mountain peaks, with his bare feet flat against the comforter. He turns slightly, so he’s looking at Steve, his blue eyes bluer in the sunlight. His nose is peppered with light freckles in the summer, as are his shoulders and the back of his neck. They’re not obvious, not like Steve’s which could probably be seen by both  _ Voyager _ ’s, 1 and 2, but they are better in their delicacy, like a secret galaxy, a network of constellations and undiscovered planets that only Steve’s eyes can see. 

He has, he thinks briefly on it, been spending too much time with Dustin. 

Steve has a slight urge to reach out and brush Billy’s hair from his eyes, or kiss the tip of his nose. But he doesn’t; it’s too hot and he can barely tolerate the feeling of his own hair tickling the back of his neck.

“Hmmm,” Billy scratches his nose again, and looks back up at the ceiling. His tongue darts out to wet his lips but not in the way it does when he wants people to look at him, rather, in the thoughtful way where it swipes a glistening line across his bottom lip and then stays there, poking out between his teeth as he concentrates. 

“A bee, I guess.”

Steve nods, tossing the ball again. “For the honey?”

“Hell yeah. Free food.”

“Yeah.” He catches the ball, and pauses, thoughtful. “Wait. Do bees eat their own honey?”

Billy shrugs, folding his hands over his stomach. “I’m sure they’ve at least tasted it.”

Steve nods again, satisfied. “Definitely.”

“Ok my turn,” Billy says. “If you were a sandwich, and you were starving to death, would you eat yourself?”

“I don’t know. Damn, that’s a good question.” Steve thinks for a minute. “What kind of sandwich would I be?”

“What’s a medium kind of sandwich?”

“Ham and cheese.”

“Ok, ham and cheese.”

“Would I survive, if I ate part of myself?”

“Yeah, but only the crusts. And it’s white bread.”

“Obviously. Yeah, I’d do it.”

“Me too.”

“I love you.” He tosses the ball again and catches it. He doesn’t cower at the phrase like he used to, he says it reflexively, with as much practice as he catches a basketball. 

“Hey, can I ask one more?” 

“It’s against the rules but I’ll allow it,” Steve says. 

“Awesome.” Billy takes a breath, and Steve knows it’s a nervous one from the way his hands on his stomach rise and fall, and his fingers flutter like they’re itching under his skin. “If you were to spend the rest of your life with someone, who would you pick?”

Steve swallows, and he thinks that Billy might be catching up to him on the scoreboard of Good Questions, despite the fact that he bent the rules. 

“You,” he says quietly, and then, because his cheeks are heating up and not from the heat, he throws in, to keep it light - “Dumbass.”

“Cool,” Billy snorts, and when Steve peeks over at him he can see Billy’s wide grin that is directed at the ceiling but meant for Steve, another secret of the universe, beaming and bright. “Ok, your turn.” 

  
  



End file.
